Tuesday, April 21, 2015

It is the early morning of January 28th, 1969 aboard the Union Oil drill platform-A: Six
miles from Santa Barbara, California. On an otherwise routine day, well number A-21
experienced a underwater blow-out lasting ten days, and covering all within
sight with sticky crude oil. At the time
it was the worst environmental oil spill ever.
Today it's been bumped to number three, after the Exxon Valdez spill in 1989; and the infamous Deepwater Horizon which ironically occurred on Earth Day just five years
ago.

Aghast at the destruction of the Santa
Barbara spill, the following year senator Gaylord Nelson from Wisconsin
conceived of "Earth Day" and soon got it approved as an annual
observance to further our understanding and appreciation of our mother
earth. That oil spill and the resultant
Earth Day observance are generally considered to be the genesis of the
conservation movement.

How well I remember that time 45 years ago; back when our
passions could not be defeated by any bureaucracy and some of us thought we
were seeing the dawn of a bright new day for Gaia and all her children. Finally, progress was being made somewhere if
not everywhere, and the sweet smell of hope filled the air, and our heads. For a time.

There were a few politicians who took up the banner for
conservation, along with groups like Greenpeace, Sea Shepherds, etc; and
gradually, little by little laws were enacted to further protect the
environment, natural wetlands & watersheds. things were looking up; for a time.

Sometimes the pendulum of change seems more like the
scimitar. As soon as face-shooter Dick Cheney and his smirking chimp GWB puppet figurehead took office; laws
which were protecting the environment and mother earth were summarily stripped
off the books and replaced with the patriot act. Things have been rolling downhill ever since
for Gaia, and all of us along with her.

As we greet the 45th observance of Earth Day we are finding
there is indeed not much to celebrate.
Just this last week fracking operations in Oklahoma
released another swarm of 4.0+ earthquakes, with the same thing occurring in Idaho,
Montana, and basically everywhere
fracking is permitted. So, this insanity
called fracking, which makes drinking water so toxic it is flammable, and
creates swarms of earthquakes-is perfectly legal?

I'll just say it, What
the Fuck?!!?

Meanwhile the timber industry is busy trying to cut down
every last tree they can find so Japan
can have wood for houses. We're
stripping Tuna from the Atlantic fast enough for it to be called genocide, so
the Japanese can have some non-radioactive fish to eat in their new homes. Everywhere we look; animals are being
harvested with zero regard for anything beyond profit. Not only are entire forests still being
burned in south America in the name of progress and profit; all over the world
the rapacious demand for palm oil kills even more wild virgin forests at a
truly staggering rate.

Humanity can live just fine without palm oil, whale oil, and
fucking shark fin soup. Why we insist
upon such ugly, greedy practices just amazes and confounds me. I seem these days to be trapped in one long,
drawn out, What the Fuck moment;
because every single day those running this game ratchet the insanity up a few
more notches.

Has the media where you live covered the massive dead whales
beaching themselves in Japan,
or that this act is thought to be a precursor sign of earthquakes. Did they tell you that just days after the
beaching, Japan
began having not just an earthquake, but once again, swarms of them? Didn't hear about that? Didn't think so. Then you might not have heard about the new
volcanoes erupting in Japan
either.

It isn't just Gaia having a really bad time of it this week;
her human children aren't doing so good either.
A man guilty only of running while being black is shot to death, in the
back, as another man arrested for the same "offense" dies from a mysterious broken spine while in
custody. Elsewhere, a 70 year old volunteer police
"officer" killed a suspect with his gun while thinking he was firing
his taser. He was unqualified for either
in my humble opinion; but was found not only not guilty, but also deserving a vacation in the Bahamas??!!
Yup, another WTF moment.

Obama is celebrating Earth Day with some nuclear
brinksmanship and saber rattling with Iran
which is probably making dear Gaia a bit nervous. Why isn't he sending some humanitarian ships
to help save drowning refugees fleeing Libya
instead of blockading Iran?

Earlier this week a postal worker in a gyrocopter flew in under all the radar in the most controlled air space on earth, evading all the muscles of homeland security; and landed on the white house lawn to deliver 535 letters-one to every member of congress protesting campaign funding practices. To the further embarrassment of DHS, the postal worker had notified the authorities and media he would be conducting this act of civil disobedience. And he still sneaked in and took everyone by surprise even so.

A crazy week on planet Earth!

Getting back to mother earth as a focus; we find that Fukushima
has killed the pacific ocean, as the fishermen return with empty nets again,
like last year, there are no fish.
They're all dead & gone, but
then we already knew that. We also know
it will only be getting worse as more radiation spews into the air and sea
daily from that festering open sore created by incompetence fueled by greed.

At every level, when
it comes to humans, it seems they cannot ever be counted upon to make the
correct choice for the greatest good. As
example, take the king crab fishery in Alaska,
just down wind from Fukushima's
continuously erupting nuclear volcano.
That fishery should have been shut down immediately, Why you may
ask...because crabs feed on the dead &
dying of the ocean, which means all things killed by radiation. The crabs become toxic from eating irradiated
fish, and still they are selling Alaskan crab for top dollar around the world
four years after the nuclear accident; knowing it is poison. Not only don't those involved get into any
trouble, they get their own TV show!

Utter insanity.

Back in the gulf of Mexico; the remnant of the Deepwater Horizon well is still leaking
oil, as are a good many of the hundreds upon hundreds of abandoned gulf oil
rigs. BP sprayed unknown thousands of gallons of corexit which is designed to sink
the oil, not absorb or disperse it.
Almost all of the Deepwater
Horizon oil, plus all that corexit
has turned the gulf into a dead zone; and the ocean conveyor currents are
circulating that death around the planet.
Stuff like this is kept from us by the news minders at propaganda
control, for our own good. It's easier
to ignore if we aren't being reminded of it every day.

All over the planet we see the same exact thing: those who
have either depleted or contaminated their own natural resources behaving as if
they have a god-given right to the resources of others; either by commerce, or
by war if necessary. This is not just an
unhealthy mindset, it is maniacal &
insane.

Those shadowy ones behind all these atrocities continue to
spray deadly toxic chemtrails above us in stark disregard for our resentment,
dulling our senses, making us sick, and taking us right out of the
equation. For a while now we have seen
the reports claiming that some Wal-Mart
stores would be used as containment facilities, when all the undesirables and
rebels were rounded up. Those reports
are easy for some to dismiss, but then this week also saw the announced closing
to several Wal-Mart stores in
different states all closing for plumbing
repairs. All of them, Really?!
Seems just a bit strange to me when you consider how Wal-Mart stores hate to lose a penny of
business. Hmmm! Very strange indeed. Then there are the reports of all those railroad cars with leg irons for the passengers; easy to ignore until related stories begin traveling in clusters, then it begins to make sense.

Between the neocons, archons &
morons all the promise of Earth Day
has become more of a longing for what was, and what we have lost. Poor old Gaylord
Nelson must be weeping in his grave.
Meanwhile, as they totally ignore the mega-risks to earth from
Mega-business, news people show us how we can save the earth by
making earth day hats from empty cereal boxes instead of tossing them in the
trash. While California suffers from a devastating drought, residents are threatened with stiff fines for wasting water; 11 huge private golf courses; and the almond industry in southern California use all the water they want. What complete rubbish! With so much at stake, why are games and nuts such a high priority? Once again, we are fed this puerile idea that
it is the behavior of individuals like you &
me that has caused all these deadly ills to mother earth; and Our job to fix it.

How utterly insulting.

The indigenous original people of north America
called Gaia by a different name, they knew her as Turtle Island, and knowing also that all things are connected on
the great medicine wheel of life; every day was earth day! They showed
her respect, and she gave them abundance.
Good trade!

Somehow, since that time we have allowed others to steal our
power and use it to wage war upon the sweet dear earth in our name. To our enduring shame we have watched this
parade of increasingly horrifying atrocities to the environment without raising
so much as a whimper of meaningful protest.
We just pretend we don't see, then pretend nobody else does either, and
continue on with our little rat race lives, in servitude to those in the
shadows of power.

Epilogue:Within a week of Earth Day 2015, the predictions made in the video above came true: over 4000 dead in the volcano eruption in Chile & the Massive Earthquake in Nepal. Are we paying attention Yet?Update:On May 20, 2015: a month after 'Earth Day' ~ Santa Barbara Calif. suffered yet another massive oil spill reminiscent of that 1969 spill which inspired the conservation movement. As if to answer the question above: No, we haven't learned shit. Thanks for all the silence.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

If the big bang
had lasted just a fraction of a second less than it did; everything would have
collapsed back in upon itself.

If the big bang
had lasted just a fraction of a second longer than it did; everything would
have exploded in one big fireball.

Instead, the big bang
lasted the exact, precise length of time necessary to form an expanding
universe full of galaxies, stars and planets.

I'm fairly happy about that.

Than I am alive upon a planet the perfect distance from a star for life to thrive makes me very happy indeed!

Everything after should be considered a bonus.

We've all known people who seem happy nearly all the time,
regardless of circumstance; and others, who seem to never find so much as an
ounce of happiness no matter how much of it surrounds them.

Happiness is a by-product of life. It does not discriminate between the
deserving and non-deserving; that, is
a purely human trait.

Clearly, happiness
is a valued commodity in today's chaotic world, perhaps more so than ever. As with the concept of love, happiness is often harder to define than we think it should
be. it's not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing; it's way more personal than that;
just like love.

Love and happiness can often travel together, but not
always. Love can bring about happiness,
yet happiness does not guarantee love, in every instance.

What constitutes happiness is different for everyone; what
sends one to the height of ecstasy may not even rate mild interest from others;
and vice versa.

"It
isn't what you have, or who you are, or where you are, or what you

are doing that makes you happy or un-happy: it's what you think about."

~Dale
Carnegie~

Happiness is as fleeting as the visit from a hummingbird on
a sunny day, and like the hummingbird; happiness also comes and goes on its own
schedule & agenda.

Happiness cannot be commanded, or demanded...it simply is,
and then after a while it goes away or changes form into some other emotion.

Is happiness the opposite or absence of sadness?

Not always, no.

Ones life may be totally devoid of sadness without having a
speck of happiness to show for it.
Likewise, one may find true happiness in many things while still feeling
sadness on other levels. They are not
interchangeable or mutually exclusive energies.

We're more complicated than that.

On the world web there are no shortages of tests and such
one may use to gauge their happiness index on some chart or another. That is fine for those who are happy with
such things; but the simpler approach is to make sure your happiness index
doesn't become your misery index.

As the human condition continues to degrade, finding
happiness becomes more important than ever in the stagnant dystopian landscape
around us. The power elite certainly
seem to rejoice in ever increasing regulations and restrictions of freedom, and
liberty; as if they're trying to see how much repression humanity as a whole
will tolerate.

While some people pursue happiness so intently they totally
miss some obvious opportunities; other people find great happiness in even the
smallest of things.

When happiness catches us unaware and settles in for a while
the first thing we want is more, we want to extend the happiness hoping it will
stay around longer; yet knowing that
it cannot be held prisoner.

We can become happiness junkies if we're not judicious. An awful lot of addictions are started by
trying to recapture the sensation of the first time something made us happy.

We should be smart enough going in to realize we can never
duplicate the first experience of anything.
That is exactly why the first experience of anything is so special!

Stress is a primary happiness antidote and can not only
eradicate happiness, but even prevent it's re-growth as well. Reducing &
managing our stress may not in itself bring about happiness, but what it does
is create the space in which happiness can bloom forth.

Some seek happiness outside of themselves, as a resource from
the material world, while others seem to discover a well spring of happiness
within themselves without looking for it.

There is the kind of happiness you find; then there is the
kind of happiness you create.

There is the kind of happiness when our children make us proud,
or when we exceed our own expectations for ourselves. Still, I think the best we can hope for with
happiness is to acknowledge it when we feel it, without trying to either hunt
or capture it.

Then there is the almost evil kind of happiness some people
find in making those around them as miserable and agitated as possible. Failing to find or create their own happiness
they satisfy themselves in spoiling the happiness of others, as if a sport.

I am all too happy to avoid such folks.

There is the kind of happiness we feel in the successful competition
of a difficult task at the end of the day when our bones are tired.

Each of us has the choice and chance to awaken each day with
a speck of happiness for what the day may bring, and what we might accomplish
with the time. We can monitor our
thoughts to create a fertile environment for hapiness.

We can also try giving happiness a home in our hearts. We can open our hearts to happiness instead
of closing them off trying to make happiness a full time prisoner.

Compromise seems a constant in life, and its no different
with happiness. If we want to either
find or create happiness quite often some compromise is required. The trick is to not compromise that which
makes your happiness possible in the first place.

There are no short cuts to happiness, yet at the same time
it can pop up in front of you when least expected, which makes a good case for
knowing what you want.

Unfortunately, far too often we humans must learn the
lessons involved when we attach our happiness to the emotional affection of
others. Having someone else be responsible for our happiness can be the
slipperiest of slopes; especially when things get very tough.

Sometimes folks get trapped into measuring their happiness
and self-worth in the esteem others hold for them, good or ill.

It gets really interesting when we attempt to balance our
spiritual happiness with physical happiness in this life. While they may seem polar opposites, they really aren't; not if you go about it
the right way. Finding that balance
point is what makes it challenging.

The average worker gets up earlier than they'd like, rushes
thru the rote morning routine to fight
traffic, to get to a job they hate, being around people they dislike, then
grinds home thru still heavier traffic . . . hard to find happiness in that rat
race agenda. That's the whole point!

"A
positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it

will annoy enough people to make
it worth the effort."

~ Herm Albright ~

There is the false happiness of dime-a-dozen-divas, and
other brightly colored fast moving objects which are created by our false
economy and false society to keep us distracted... for a while longer. We see these diversions for what they are,
entertainment for the lower chakras; but we don't mistake them for real happiness.

That ocean side home with the magnificent view certainly brings
happiness...and high maintenance in a never ending battle with salt and
corrosion. Life is compromise.

Most people think of money straight away, when happiness
comes to mind; despite the ages old wisdom that happiness cannot be so cheaply
bought. Indeed some find happiness of a
sort in the possessions money can buy; yet so often in the end they too late
understand the true definition of possession.

Happiness may also be found in the experiences that money can buy.
The accumulation of experience certainly serves us more than the
collection of things...depending entirely of course on the kinds of experiences
one seeks out.

Fulfilling, or destructive?

Top astronomers estimate that nearly 90% of the material
needed to make new stars is gone. After
just 14 billion years and already we're in the grip of entropy. Experts have long held that the rate at which
the universe is expanding from the big bang is slowing down; and that it will
some day eventually collapse back in upon itself, with the entire universe ultimately consumed in one all-consuming black
hole.

One cosmic breath,

an exhale followed by an inhale

with all of creation come and gone between the two.

I figure that leaves us all a few billion more years to let
some happiness find us!

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Up in northern Wisconsin
there is a respectable sized puddle of water named Birch Lake, near the sleepy little lumber town of Laona. It's where my folks grew up, and eventually
married. Back then dad was a businessman
and mom taught high school English. I
was but three years old when dad's career relocated the family to the southwest.

I might have grown up thinking that city life was normal
except for the fact that family ties took us back to spend most of every summer
on Birch lake. It was my annual reboot
from nature, and I looked forward to it more than anything else.

Birch lake was my training ground for learning how to get on
out in the quiet places, and unlike most kids learning those skills, the
lessons came from my mom. A tomboy from
the start, she could identify every species of tree that grew in such abundance
surrounding the lake, and every creature living there. She taught me wood lore, and how to respect
nature, and the forest. While mom's
skill set made her the quintessential woods
person, her first love was fishing; and every summer we'd spend countless
hours of the day and night dragging fishing lures around that lake.

Now as one might expect; growing up in a family oriented to
the outdoors, there was no shortage of campfire stories. We of course heard about such legendary
creatures as the Hodag, and side-hill gulger which were standard
fare for those parts back in the day.
There were also the much more intriguing family stories told every summer, and of these, none were more
appealing to me than the lake monster called Jingle Bells.

Fishermen on Birch lake primarily fished for walleye pike,
and northern pike which were plentiful, and some bass as well if you knew just
where to look for them. Although some
disputed it at the time, many claimed there were also a few Muskellunge or Muskies, (the largest and most aggressive species of pike), living
in the lake. Over the years the legend
grew of a fish in Birch lake that could not be caught. Plenty of people had hooked this wily fish, including mom, but nobody had ever landed
him. In fact, mom claimed to have hooked
him on no less than three occasions over the years. As the story went, this fish had been hooked
so many times there were numerous lures still hanging from his mouth, and when
he shook his head violently to escape, they sounded like sleigh bells, so the
locals took to calling him Jingle Bells.

Other members of the family had also seen the monster fish
hooked, only to escape yet again. Fishermen
would come from all over to get a shot at Jingle Bells, and even though some
very nice walleyes & northerns were
pulled from Birch lake, nobody ever landed a monster muskie with a tackle box
full of lures in its mouth. The legend
grew.

By the time I was twelve or so I'd actually grown tired of
hearing about the mythical muskie, and even doubted it could still be alive
after all these years. However, I never
grew tired of fishing with mom, so I learned to suspend disbelief, at least for
the duration of the fishing trip. I
didn't even mind that she allowed no motors on her boat, because she always
insisted on rowing. She said there was a
skill to rowing the boat without announcing your presence to the fish. She was right, of course; so I watched, and
learned. I did get a few fishing trips
in with dad, but mostly he hung out with kids his own age, the good old boys club and all that. He liked to entertain business partners & clients during much of his annual
vacation; offspring not invited.

It was June of 1963, my fourteenth summer at birch lake and
the family had long understood that I was going to follow in mom's footsteps. When I wasn't out on the lake I was up in the
woods somewhere. Although open to public
fishing, the property surrounding the lake was owned by my grandfather and his
brothers, so only family members owned parcels and cabins on the lake
shore. It was like having my very own
wilderness paradise; what kid wouldn't just love that?

I was especially looking forward to this summer, having been told I was getting my own boat for my
birthday. It was supposed to be dad's
secret gift, but mom clued me in for some reason, which in no way diminished
the cool factor. It was also the summer
I'd chosen to duplicate one of mom's famous feats from the past; swimming the
measured mile distance from the dock, out to the island. Yes, this was going to be a summer to
remember.

As was the custom, other members of the extended family also
dropped by every summer as they were able, so there was nearly always a full
house. In the evenings gramps would have
a game of bridge going on near the
crackling fire in the stone fireplace; as his various grandchildren would busy
themselves with games and such. Other
family members would spread out around the place, engaged in one activity or
another. All of the activity would
occasionally be punctuated by the popping of sap in the fire, or the snapping
of mousetraps going off somewhere unseen.

There was no such thing as a video game back then, and TV not permitted in the cabin didn't prevent us from enjoying ourselves. My cousins and I could spend hours trying to swing a wire loop on a string, onto a hook nailed to the wall. Sounds easy until you try it!

Hours after sunset as everyone was settling in, the evening
bite was on, so mom and I went fishing cause there were many mouths to feed,
that they couldn't all fit in the boat was a double blessing! Mom's boat was easily the oldest craft on the
lake; a 16 foot wood rowboat. The thing
was big, and heavy for a smaller boat, and although it readily cried out for a
motor, none was ever attached. The oars
were long & heavy as well.

Moving away from the dock with all our gear aboard, the boat
was lethargic at first; but after a dozen powerful strokes it was soon gliding
across the moonlit lake with purpose. I
think rowing that boat was moms therapy because she never tired of it, or
shared it. If she was in the boat she
was rowing because nobody knew Birch lake like my mom. In our first hour on the lake we picked up
two nice Walleyes and a small
northern pike we had to release for being undersize.

Mom never used rod holders, preferring to pin the end of her
rod to the bottom of the boat with her right foot. She claimed doing it that way gave her more
of a feel for what was going on. When
she hooked a fish we'd trade seats and I'd take over rowing. When moms leg got tired from holding the rod
down, she's reel in her lure and I'd send my line out.

By the time the evening chill was setting into our bones
we'd picked up a third walleye and
were close to being ready to call it a night.
I had my line out, trolling a fancy new artificial frog lure I'd bought
in town. Mom scoffed when I rigged it
up, showing her the swimming action of the rubber legs. She probably hadn't bought a new lure in
years, preferring to stick with what she knew worked. She was fond of saying that fishing lures
were made to catch fishermen, not fish. Undaunted, I was putting my hopes on the sexy
frog lure.

We'd decided to troll the deepest area of the lake a few
times, then call it a night. We talked
of this and that in whispers, as we fished, being that voices carry on the
water, and aren't a natural lake sound.
Mom always said if you want to catch the big fish, you have to think
like one. On our third pass my line
suddenly began speeding off the reel into the water. "Mom,
stop rowing, I just snagged the bottom" I said, almost bored. Shaking her head; mom says "Start reeling, its a sandy bottom here,
nothing down there to snag, it's a fish!"

Very soon the line was tight, and still felt like a snag,
except there was some give to the
thing. Convinced I'd snagged a
waterlogged piece of sunken driftwood, my level of excitement was accordingly
low. I kept reeling as my arm muscle
began burning against the dead weight on the end of my line. Suddenly the driftwood on my rod took back about ten yards of line, and I was
now playing tug-of-war with something quite powerful. With my excitement level appropriately
raised, I braced myself, and leaned into the fight.

Being no stranger to fishing this lake, I'd had my share of
good sized fish, but not even the biggest fought anything close to what I had
on my line. Determined to land this fish
I set the drag all the way tight so I could wear him down. Mom saw me set the drag and just nodded, with
a really huge grin on her face. With my
right arm feeling like it was on fire, I could see that I'd recovered most of
my line: whatever I had; was just below the boat.

Mom popped the oars out and stowed them up front, then reached
for the flashlight as I wrestled my unseen opponent closer to the surface. She was actually laughing when I heard her
ask, "Still think you've got a snag?" I was too busy proving myself a fisherman to
come up with a snappy reply, I think I just grunted "Nope." After cranking
in a couple more yards of line everything just went slack, no resistance. I was thinking I'd lost the fish when he
slapped his enormous tail up alongside the boat as he broke the surface.

Mom shined the spotlight over the left side of the boat,
revealing the tail end of this fish.
Moving the light to the other side we were looking the monster called Jingle Bells right in the face. For those who've never fished for pike, they are a long, slender fish with
a mouth full of very sharp teeth. Think
fresh water barracuda! Now in the
commotion I don't recall hearing the famous sound associated with the legend,
but with no less than six old fishing lures hanging from his mouth, and the
tangles of broken lines looking like deformed whiskers, there could be no doubt
this was the infamous muskie.

So, here I am, nearly exhausted, holding onto my fishing rod
for dear life with Jaws trying to
pull me out of the boat and I hear mom laughing again: "You still think Jingle Bells is dead son?" My immediate dilemma prevented me from
grasping the humor at the moment. All
that was left was to land this monster fish.
Not so easy if you're fishing on moms
boat because she's something of a purist; who doesn't believe in using nets or
gaff hooks. Swell, just great. With this fish starting to act like he was
getting his second wind, we had to figure out how to get him on that boat without
getting ripped to shreds by those teeth.
Then with a graceful flick of her fillet knife mom cut the line. As Jingle
Bells slid back into the black depths of the lake beyond the power of the
spotlight, mom very matter-of-factly says: "Guess your sexy frog worked after all."

With that she replaced the oars, pointed the boat for the
dock and began rowing us back home. We sat there just looking at one another,
smiling in silence over the little adventure we'd just shared. It wasn't a time for words. Some things are just beyond simple
language. I looked around the lake all
peaceful and serene again after the battle, noticed my hands were still
shaking, and not from the chilled night air.
I couldn't shake the image of that monstrous face full of teeth or the
enormity of that fish from my mind. Fish
like that just aren't supposed to exist!

The warm lights from the cabin were inviting as we neared
the dock. Still not exactly sure why mom
had cut the line, I asked her what she was gonna tell everyone. "Why,
I'm going to tell them you
caught Jingle Bells, but he got away the same way as always." It took me a few seconds to catch her exact
meaning, but I wanted to be sure, so I asked, "Do you mean you cut him loose three times before?" She paused a moment as if re-living a
poignant memory, then softly said, "Twice,
I cut him loose twice before tonight, the first time he broke my line."

After my own experience with this legendary fish I found
myself in agreement with mom: Yes he might look great mounted on the wall as a
trophy, but I liked him better right where he was, knowing the rubber frog
hanging from his mouth is mine! He knows
I caught him, that's all that really matters.

Over the following years whenever the stresses of the
material world sent me scurrying for my happy
place invariably that place would be memories of Birch lake. When times were really harsh, and I needed
something more, I'd find myself back in that rowboat, talking with mom. Always seemed to clear the skies of dark clouds.

Mom passed away the year before I moved to Alaska. She never pushed me to become a doctor or
lawyer because she knew the world has plenty of those. Instead she always told me to just follow my
heart, so that's what I did. A few years
later I was certain I could feel mom smiling down on me when she saw that I was
living with my family in the wilderness and teaching my daughter wood lore.

Full circle.

Of course when my daughter was born I couldn't wait to send
photos to my father, and sister, so they could update their family photo albums. It was a couple of weeks later when I received
a letter back from my sister. The
envelope was fat with a handful of old photos...really old, from the 1920's. A brief note accompanied the photos: "After seeing pictures of your new daughter,
I think you should have these old photos of mom at about the same age. Grampa sent them to me when mom passed away,
they are yours now."

In my hand were eight photos of my mom taken when she
was just under a year old.

I laid them all on the table in a row, then got the
photos sent to my sister & laid
them alongside.

Except for
the clothing, it looked like the same
exact baby in both sets of pictures!